


Still here

by Pansexualweirdo



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood, Broken Bones, Canon-Typical Violence, Car Accidents, Daryl Dixon Needs a Hug, Developing Relationship, First Aid, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Major Character Injury, Mutual Pining, No Spoilers, One Shot, POV Daryl Dixon, Protective Daryl Dixon, Romance, Unresolved Romantic Tension, can be read as platonic, prison era, so much pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-11
Updated: 2020-02-11
Packaged: 2021-02-28 05:40:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,946
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22668676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pansexualweirdo/pseuds/Pansexualweirdo
Summary: Excerpt from the fic: "What scares the hunter is when he sees Rick, unconscious, tossed into the backseat of the car from the force of the crash. His right leg is bent at an impossible angle and the walker they hit is trying to get in through the window on the passenger side, its arms reaching towards Rick."
Relationships: Daryl Dixon & Rick Grimes, Daryl Dixon/Rick Grimes
Comments: 2
Kudos: 61





	Still here

**Author's Note:**

> This was for an assignment I had in Swedish class, so it's translated for your pleasure... and mine :') This means that my (also) TWD-crazed teacher has this piece to read whenever she pleases lmao. And she's gonna grade it. ;-;
> 
> The gore in here isn't described too graphically, despite the premise, so don't worry. There's also a ton of fluff that you can interpret however you like. Happy reading! :)

It’s one late afternoon in Georgia when two men, an ex-cop and a hunter, are sitting in a white Honda together, on their way back from a supply-run. It’s dark out and a thick fog lies in the air. Even worse, they haven’t found much of anything useful. A few tin cans of food and two water bottles does not go a far way with a group of over ten people. Nonetheless, Rick tries not to let it get to him. He’s the leader of the group, after all. He’s gotta keep a cool head, gotta be there for his family. His son’s waiting for him back at their camp, he’s expecting Rick to show him the way and to be a role model for him. He deserves to have that.

And all while Rick’s mulling over the decisions he’s made today in the passenger seat of the Honda, Daryl’s thinking about his own _mistakes_. How he almost got bit by a walker while stockpiling weapons, and how Rick had saved him. _Again_. How many times has Daryl lost his footing and needed Rick to set him straight? He didn’t even want to think about it. He’s gotta repay Rick in some way. Prove himself worthy to the rest of the group.

Stuck in his own, loud thoughts, Daryl doesn’t spot the walker shuffling up on the road in front of the car until it’s too late. They collide with the living corpse with a jarring bang. Driven by panic, Daryl takes a violent left and the car skids right down into a ditch.

Everything goes black for a moment. When Daryl comes to, blearily opening his eyes, he registers several things. First of all, the Honda is laying on its side. The windows are smashed and there are shards of glass everywhere. Then, he realizes he’s hit his head when he touches his forehead and his hand comes back bloody. There’s a sharp ringing in his ears, but other than that, he’s got no severe injuries. What _does_ scare the hunter, however, is when he sees Rick, unconscious, tossed into the backseat of the car from the force of the crash. His right leg is bent at an impossible angle and the walker they hit is trying to get in through the window on the passenger side, its arms reaching towards Rick.

Now Daryl’s wide awake. He searches for his pocket knife - the knife he once got from Rick - but his blood goes cold when he can’t find it. Where the hell could it have gone? _Okay, plan B,_ he thinks and looks around for anything useful. The only thing within his reach happens to be a sharp rock that was probably launched through the windscreen in the process of the crash. Daryl takes it, sits up in the wrecked car and bashes it into the walker’s eye. The immediate danger is over when the corpse collapses on the ground outside the Honda and Daryl can now focus on his injured friend.

Carefully, he shakes the ex-cop in an attempt to wake him, calls his name out several times, but it’s all in vain. He looks down at Rick’s leg, which is rapidly swelling, bent almost at a 90 degrees angle. _It’s definitely broken._ Unfortunately, that means Daryl has to set it for him. The fracture will need proper care when they get back to the camp, Hershel’s got experience and material, he’s bound to be able to do something. But right now, setting it is the only option. And Daryl knows that it’s going to hurt like absolute hell.

Daryl decides that he’s better off doing it now before Rick wakes up. They’ve got no anesthesia at hand, and Rick will be in less pain once it’s set right. Don’t get him wrong, it’ll still suck. But waking Rick before setting his leg will only cause him more anxiety, so it’s the better of two evils. Daryl’s no doctor, but Merle had broken more than a few bones during his lifetime, and who do you think set them for him?

With his heart in his throat, Daryl rolls up Rick’s pant, and he exhales a sigh of relief when he observes that the skin is unbroken. Rick's leg is twisted, skin swelling and turning blue and yellow, but there’s no blood to see. That means that Rick’s safe from bleeding out. Which is a small victory, but a victory all the same.

Daryl makes sure that Rick’s in an alright position that prevents him from breaking anything else when he wakes up, and with trembling hands, he grabs a firm hold of the ex-cop’s injured leg.

He counts down from three and sets the leg back to its original position, wincing.

A terrible _**crack**_ is heard and Rick comes back to life with an excruciating scream. His face contorts with pain and he’s only awake for a moment before he faints again. It’s like a scene straight out of a horror movie, Daryl can almost see it being filmed and put on thousands of television screens before him when he stares down at Rick’s broken leg, panting.

Rick’s chest is rising and falling with quick breaths, and Daryl wants to give him some time before he wakes him again, but he can hear moaning from walkers in the distance, and he knows they’ve got to go. They can rest and recover when they get back. So Daryl uses a trick he remembers working on a passed out Merle once in the bullpen and presses two knuckles against the center of Rick’s breast cage, which thankfully brings him back.

Rick looks frantically around him, putting two and two together before his eyes go to Daryl, who keeps his hands up as if calming a distressed animal.

“'s okay, Rick! Your leg was broken and I set it. You’re gon' be fine. Just breathe," Daryl tries to soothe him, but his voice lacks assertion and certainty, and he’s barely breathing himself.

“Did we crash?” Rick asks.

Tears are falling freely down his red cheeks, and yet he looks pale with fear. His skin is glistening with a sheen of sweat - he’s probably running a fever - and there are a few cuts on his face from the tissue remains of the windows. The sight of him sends a flood wave of shame over the hunter, nearly giving him whiplash. He promptly averts his gaze from Rick, thinking that he’s truly outdone himself. And _not_ in a good way.

Rick is the closest person Daryl has to a friend, the only man he trusts, who’s saved his life one too many times, and now, Daryl almost got them _both_ killed.

“M' so sorry,” whispers Daryl, unable to look Rick in the eye.

But despite everything, despite the fact that _he’s_ the reason this man is sitting here with a broken leg, Rick puts a hand on Daryl’s shoulder, speaking in a steady voice. “Don’t be. I didn’t see the walker either. Fog was thick as grits and we’re both exhausted.”

Daryl finally meets Rick’s gaze that is filled with pain but also shining with trust, almost blindingly bright. Trust that Daryl doesn’t deserve in the slightest.

“I almost killed ya.”

“Maybe, but you didn’t. I’m still here, aren’t I?”

Then he smiles. He fucking _smiles_.

“Yeah ye are. And I’m gonna make sure it stays that way,” and when Daryl says this, he _means_ it.

Rick and the rest of the group is his family, and Daryl’s got their backs. His word’s a promise not only to the man in front of him but to himself as well. A brief silence follows his statement and there’s a glint of something indecipherable in Rick’s eyes. It makes Daryl’s heart beat faster.

He manages to put his own hand atop Rick’s, which is still on his shoulder, strong and secure, comforting, when it’s supposed to be the _other_ way around. He squeezes it and offers Rick a small smile, his cheeks almost hurting from how long it’s been since he’s smiled like this. It’s something he reserves for very few people, Rick being one of them.

Furthermore, Rick’s mangled, his skin covered in little gashes and cuts from the glass shards, and he still looks good. Daryl immediately represses that forbidden thought, shaking his head, and he looks through their bags to find their makeshift first aid kit.

“Hold on, lemme get some of that blood off yer face.”

He dampens a clean rag with some of the water they found and kneels back in front of Rick, pausing to check for permission. Rick nods, and Daryl softly presses the cloth to a gash on his forehead. Rick flinches, barely perceptible but Daryl picks up on it easily with his hunter senses. He frowns, resorting to gently dabbing the cut, holding Rick’s face in place with his free hand. He knows he’s rough around the edges, his hands calloused from years of holding a bow rather than someone else, and it kind of saddens him at times like these.

So what he doesn’t expect to hear from the cop is: “Who knew you could be so gentle?”

Taken aback, Daryl grunts out a: “Shuddup,”, his face strangely hot. He makes quick work of cleaning Rick’s cuts, although he’s no less careful, and tries to ignore the odd look in Rick’s eyes that follow his movements.

“There. Hershel’ll patch ye up better back home, but for now, we’ve gotta put yer leg in a splint and get the hell outta here.”

But Rick hesitates, reaching a hand out towards Daryl, who freezes in place, breath in his throat as Rick brushes his fringe out of his eyes. _Right_. Daryl forgot.

“You’re hurt,” Rick says, and Daryl hums, shying away from Rick’s touch.

He usually doesn’t like people touching him, but that wasn’t the case here; Rick’s fingers were gentle, _caring_ even as they ghosted the edges of his wound. And Daryl can’t deal with that or the train of emotions that comes with it, hitting him harder than _he_ did the biter with the car. So that’s why he grumbles that he’s fine and that he can take care of it when they get back. It’s nothing compared to Rick’s injuries, anyway.

“Alright,” agrees Rick eventually, not convinced but obviously too tired to argue with Daryl, which is more than understandable.

He still proceeds to flash the hunter a fatigued smile.

It’s a struggle in of itself just to get out of the vehicle, but with determination and a couple of swears, Daryl manages to crawl through the windscreen and tip the car upright again. This way, he can help Rick out without getting him cut on any more glass. He’s been through enough already. Daryl practically has to carry the man - not that he’s complaining - and he sets Rick’s leg in splints with two sturdy sticks and wraps that tightly with his own, torn off shirt sleeves. He avoids Rick and that smug grin he’s got on his face while gathering what little they have in the car, packing it in the bags they brought. The food and water they found remained undamaged, luckily enough, and for that, Daryl is thankful. He finds his crossbow and Rick’s gun outside the Honda and thinks that it’s a miracle he woke up in time to kill that walker.

Before they leave, Rick spots something lying in the grass and shows it to Daryl, who can see his own reflection in a familiar, sharp blade of steel. Daryl can’t do anything but laugh.

“You don’t wanna forget this now, do ya?”

“Lucky break.”


End file.
